


What It Was

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bisexuality, Boys Kissing, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Making Out, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rutting, Smut, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was Niall, and his goofy grin, and his blond hair, and the way he swore like nobody else that Zayn had ever heard before. Not even long after meeting him, Zayn wondered if he swore like that in bed.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Was

**Author's Note:**

> Just before I start:
> 
> 1\. First 1D fic to be posted from me.  
> 2\. You guys actually cannot know how happy I am to be able to write for a British fandom. Being Scottish, I tend to use a lot of words that my friends don't use/understand, (such as "trousers", for instance) and UK slang ("tosser", "wanker", "telly") and so it's great to write for people who'll understand it :]

It was before they got everybody-knows-your-name, “sign my boobs”, really proper _famous_ famous. It was before acting all snuggly and touchy with each other was cool. It was before the tattoos blossomed across each boy’s naked skin like vines, and their newest inks could make the cover of a magazine, and the poster inside would be Blutacked to millions of girls’ doors.

It was the stress that had Zayn pacing the floor, his heart merely a water balloon trapped in his spiked ribs, and the signs and the fans and the television screamed his name. It was the jealousy that his bandmates could just brush themselves down, flustered but definitely saner than Zayn felt, and he couldn’t tell them. They’d spent so much time together but they didn’t really know each other, didn’t really get what was going on in each other’s heads, and so Zayn stayed silent and kept smiling.

It was Niall, and his goofy grin, and his blonde hair, and the way he swore like nobody else that Zayn had ever heard before. Not even long after meeting him, Zayn wondered if he swore like that in bed.

It was the quiet that Zayn created and the way Niall poured himself into it, like puzzle pieces fitting together. Niall was loud and boisterous, battling it out with Louis in an unspoken competition of who got to be the “funny one”.

It was his dancing. Niall had this way of moving; this innocent, dirty rolling of his body, and the straying of hands that made him downright impossible to pin down. The instructor came and molded that into something beautiful—something _dangerous_ —and he taught them how to pump their hips, among other things.

It was the jokes that he made about hair and breasts and sex.

It was the sure-fire cock of his lips.

It was the swell in Zayn’s gut that burst into something incredibly light and turned his joints into air.

It was Niall.

* * *

Still sixteen, and not allowed to see the girls, and not allowed to drink, and not allowed to watch porn.

The combination of those four things were what greeted Zayn at his own room’s door, and he didn’t even blink, didn’t even question Niall’s reasoning, and Zayn let him through.

Actually, he didn’t really have a choice; there were four-letter words littered into a stream of complaints as Niall huffed through.

“It’s like a prison.”

“Only it’s not,” Zayn pointed out.

And there it was, and there it stayed, and there Zayn paused; that grin cracked onto Niall’s pale lips, revealing pretty white teeth and the braces that Zayn hadn’t really noticed until Louis pointed them out. “No, it’s not,” he sighed lazily, happily, easily finding his place on Zayn’s sofa. “This is actually pretty fuckin’ amazing, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.” Zayn moved in beside him. “It’s all so crazy, you know? We’re on telly, _singing_ , and they love us!”

“Well, who _wouldn’t_ love us? We’re fantastic, we’re young,”—he nudged Zayn cheekily—“and we’re fit.”

Zayn remembered being sixteen, and younger; he remembered horniness and stiffies flipped under belts because his hormones were hell and the sweet, wonderful pressure of someone touching his dick through his trousers for the first time. He remembered rutting, snogging happily and messily, and his first blowie in the back of his car.

“Hey, wait.” Niall suddenly turned to Zayn, the high pitch of excitement clear. “Do you have any beers?”

Eyes snapping up from the smooth, varnished coffee table, Zayn let the thoughts chase each other, and he didn’t want Niall to leave or sulk or think that he was lame, but the producers didn't bother removing it from his mini fridge since he's Muslim and not supposed to drink, and there were deliberate instructions that under _no_ circumstances was he supposed to give any to _anyone_ else.

“Yeah. They’re in the fridge.”

So Niall, because if Zayn was selfless enough to let him have a beer then the least he could do was get off his arse and fetch them, heaved himself from the warm blessing that was the cushions. Zayn watched him walk away but looked elsewhere as Niall came back. His heart bobbed up and down, seeing the relief caress Niall’s pale face as he took his first sip of alcohol in however long it was, and Zayn froze and thawed and melted, bringing the rim of his own bottle to his lips.

“It’s no whiskey, but that is _heaven_ ,” Niall breathed, slumping back. Zayn saw his tongue peak out to dab hastily at the golden, fizzy drop on his bottom lip. “A fucking _dream_ , that is.”

Zayn let himself echo Niall’s carefree air, opening his legs at the knees, an arm draped over the back of the sofa. That was what he liked about Niall; while Harry just wanted _girls girls girls_ , and Louis was so loud, and Liam got so tense, Niall knew how to chill. He blinked slowly.

“You like the girls here?”

It was a murky territory, talking about people. Zayn had learned that second-hand, through other celebrities and their first-page-magazine mistakes. Saying something wrong could dip him into a very bad place, and safety was a checkpoint not easily found in these waters.

“They’re alright,” he said plainly. “They seem nice.”

“No, I mean do you _like_ the girls, like, are you into them?” Niall cleared his throat suggestively.

Realisation blushed up Zayn’s neck and, even with all the shit he’d copped for it, it was times like these when he was glad that embarrassment could be hidden behind his darker complexion. He smiled quietly, taking another good glug of his drink and shrugging. It slid down his throat coolly, the bubbles merely a whisper. “They’re alright,” he repeated.

Niall sighed like Zayn was stupid, and Zayn didn’t think that that was fair, because he _was_ answering the question.

He corrected himself again; “No, what I mean is, do you like girls _at all_?”

Oh.

“Yeah, I do.” His tone was untouchable, plain and simple. He didn’t want to freak Niall out. Zayn had become very aware that he could never know how someone was going to react to his sexuality until he came forth about it.

“And boys?” Niall pressed, the carefulness evident in his voice. “Are they alright, too?”

Zayn thought about sex, sex with girls, and the thrill of being on his knees in a bathroom, sucking a bloke off. He wondered if Niall had ever been in that position.

“Yeah.”

He saw Niall bristle and the steady beat of his breathing quicken and that tongue flick wetly to the corner of his mouth. He heard the bottle on the table, Zayn’s resting in both of his hands, between his knees. He smelt the faint tinge of teenage boy. He felt Niall move.

Niall kissed him softly, gently, the brush of his lips on Zayn’s tentative and tender. He ducked back, leaving Zayn stupefied, his eyes cracking open and widening a little. Niall wasn’t looking at him.

“And that, was that,” he licked his lips, “alright?”

A nod barely stirred from him, the kiss having sucked out anything worth saying to Niall now that he knew, and he was _more_ than okay with it. Instead, he scooted down the sofa, ridding them both of the space between their bodies. Zayn lowered his beer and reached his hand across Niall’s hips to his opposite leg, turning his attention back to him, a sweet, coaxing smile returned by Niall before Zayn’s mouth met his. Niall’s smile stayed despite himself.

Zayn’s fingertips teased Niall’s clothed thigh, basking in the gasp, the pressure against his hand. He let it drift over, just— just to check, just to see if Niall was in the same state as him, cock thickening in his jeans. The promise of getting off, of sweet relief, tented the crotch of Niall’s sweats and the breathiest of whines betrayed him when Zayn pressed back with the heel of his palm.

The kiss of pink on either of his cheeks bloomed into a stain across his skin, his lips reddened and pouty as he shyly acknowledged what the touch meant. Zayn was older, and maybe… that made it easier, letting him take control because he knew what he was doing. Strong, broad hands guided his legs onto the sofa, spread his thighs, and careful fingers pushed back the hair that had detoured from its natural sweep. Straddling one thigh, Zayn’s hips settled into the cradle of Niall’s and he nibbled on the blonde’s earlobe and he rocked down.

Niall didn’t pull away, didn’t push and shove and reject the mouth suckling so tenderly on his throat, didn’t wriggle from the thigh pressed between his legs. Niall had played this game before, and he’d won it. He pushed up a little more, tightened his fists into Zayn’s T-shirt, let his thighs clench. He lay there, pulsing his body as he kissed Zayn _hard_ ; whatever he lacked in experience, he was sure as hell going to make up for in enthusiasm.

It was Niall’s breath on _Zayn’s_ lips, the way his little nose scrunched up and the raw sigh that he choked out, and Zayn pulled away. He couldn’t hurt him. He didn’t want to, didn’t want to make it uncomfortable.

“No, fuck, no, Zayn, fuckin’ _move_ ,” Niall groaned. His body didn’t understand why it had stopped moving and why the friction was gone and why Zayn had reeled himself back into the comfort zone.

“You want to keep going?” Zayn asked. He would have sounded more disbelieving had it not been for the thick fog of arousal in his throat.

Niall nodded in sharp, jerky movements, bum off the sofa in his attempts to get the gears clicking and their hips rolling. His breath came in shuddering pants and they threw Zayn’s doubts to the floor. His hand glided to the younger boy’s stiff cock over his pants, rubbing the thickened form as Niall bucked up into it. Maybe this was the first time he’d ever fooled around with a boy before, and he wasn’t used to the heat of it, the raw electricity, Zayn thought. Zayn had, and he knew, knew what that face meant; of course he was familiar with it, and the deep inhale that puffed up Niall’s small chest, and the purse of his lips as he closed off the world with his eyelids.

Zayn felt something hot and wet against his fingers.

Niall had to keep his eyes closed for a while after that.

Really thinking that he could go for a wank right about now, Zayn shifted, coaxing Niall to look at him, and the way he did was so intense that Zayn couldn’t fight the grin that drew up onto his face.

“You really liked that, didn’t you?”

A breathless sort of chuckle came like smoke from Niall, a husky edge accenting the sound of it. “I’ve never done that before. That’s embarrassing,” he sighed.

“No, it’s— it’s okay,” Zayn insisted with a small shake of his head. He felt the steel muscles of Niall’s thighs soften and release him. “I’ve got to go and take care of this, though, so if you’ll just—”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Niall clearly didn’t want to move, but he did, and allowed Zayn space to stride calmly to the bathroom. He didn’t care that he’d gotten Niall to come and there he was, rubbing one off by himself, because it was a miracle that he’d been able to find someone to get close with and he… he’d missed it. He hadn’t realised, with all the stress of performing and the birth of their fame, that feeling like _this_ was such a rush.

It was the way Niall turned his head, his limbs still sprawled out and boneless, and grinned _his grin_ and made room for Zayn.

It was his hands gentling him down to kiss out their afterglows.

It was the sleepy, hooded eyes that blinked a little bit slower each time, and Niall murmuring that Zayn should sleep there, _with him_.

It was all of these things, and more, that assured him that everything was going to be alright.


End file.
